


It's Sherlock, John

by FeralCreed



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCreed/pseuds/FeralCreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John loses his memory and Sherlock tries to bring him back, with Molly's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock!" The voice in his phone was high-pitched. Female. Panicked.

Sherlock frowned. "Molly?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"It's John," Molly said. "He came in to St. Bart's an hour ago. Right now he's in room 221. I thought, maybe-"

"What happened?" Sherlock interrupted, already moving toward the door of the flat.

"We don't know. But, Sherlock... Before you come..." Molly's voice paused.

Sherlock stopped moving so quickly he nearly fell. "What is it?" he asked, barely aware his own voice was trembling. "What's wrong? Molly!" he shouted when there was still no answer. "What's wrong with John?!"

"He doesn't remember me," Molly finally said. "I-Inspector Lestrade was here too. John didn't know him either. Sherlock? Are you there?"

The phone dropped to the floor, screen cracking with the impact. Sherlock stared blankly at his empty hand, the ring of a flat-toned bell filling the flat. The walls of the staircase rushed past him as he ran down to the front door. A cab was cruising down the street, and Sherlock sprinted into the street. "Police business!" Sherlock snapped, pulling the cab's occupant out. "St. Bartholomew's Hospital," he ordered the cab driver. "Now!"

 

Sherlock ran into the hospital, past the receptionist and up the stairs. He knew exactly where room 221 was. He knew exactly where everything was in this hospital. Molly was standing by John's bed, examining the monitors by the bed. John himself was sitting up in bed, staring absentmindedly out the window. Molly turned as Sherlock entered the room.

"Sherlock, I-"

Sherlock cut her off. "John," he began.

"I'm sorry, I..." John said. "I don't know you."

"It's _Sherlock_ , John," Molly protested.

"I've never seen you before," John replied, staring at Sherlock.

Staring at him, Sherlock realized, the way that any man would if a complete stranger had entered his hospital room and called him by name. John didn't know him. And for the first time in his life, when faced with the person he loved, Sherlock didn't know what to do. He remembered the brief glances, the smiles of admiration, the accidental touches that were part of everyday life. And he feared he would never get that back. "John. You have to know me. Don't you remember anything?"

"Look, mate, I _don't_ know you. Why should I?"

"Afghanistan or Iraq. Do you remember, the first day we met. I asked you where you got your psychosomatic limp and told you how I knew it was psychosomatic. The murders, the pills, the shot through the window. The aluminium crutch. Baskerville. The Hound! Don't you remember? I solve crimes, you blog about it." Sherlock was aware his voice was growing agitated, but he didn't know what else to do.

"He solves crimes?" John asked, looking to Mary. "Wait... He solves crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants."

"You remember!" Molly exclaimed.

"Nope," John said with a sigh. "No, I don't. Well, I mean, I remember that, but I don't know where it came from."

"You said it," Sherlock told him. "In Buckingham palace. The case with The Woman. Irene Adler."

"Sherlock... Holmes?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered, smiling.

"Where is he?" John asked. "I want to see him."

"I'm Sherlock."

"But I don't recognize your face," John protested. "Sherlock, I remember him. He's not you."


	2. Chapter 2

"Not Sherlock?" Molly asked. "But that's ridiculous. Of course he's Sherlock. Who else could he be?"

"I don't know who he is, but that man is not Sherlock." John was adamant in his belief, and Sherlock realized that this was not going to be a typical case of amnesia.

"What do you think Sherlock looks like?" Molly asked.

"I-I can't remember," John confessed. "But I don't think it's him."

Molly took Sherlock's hand and pulled him away from the bed. "Sherlock," she said quietly. "Is there anything you can think of that would make John remember you? A-A catchphrase, a key word, something that you two shared?"

"I can only think of one thing," Sherlock said. "Would you give us a moment?"

"He's not gone forever, Sherlock," Molly told him, stepping back. "He'll remember you." She stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Sherlock walked toward John's bed. "John, I don't know what to say, so..."

"Then why don't you go?" John asked. "Sherlock should be here soon. He'll come for me."

"Do you remember what happened the first day you met?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, of course," John answered.

Sherlock walked toward the door, moving quickly. "The name is Sherlock Holmes," he said as he opened the door, "and the address is 221B Baker Street." Winking, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. He half-walked, half-fell across the hallway and stopped with his back against the wall. John's room was silent and Sherlock turned away. He was halfway down the hall when the door opened and John staggered out, shouting, "Come back! Sherlock!"

Sherlock turned and ran back to John, grabbing John's arms just above the elbow. "You remember," he said. "Do you? Tell me you remember!"

"I-I... yes, I remember," John said. "Sherlock." He smiled, the same small smile that Sherlock had grown to know and love. "You're Sherlock."

"John," Sherlock replied. "You're my John."

"Well, of course," John told him. "Whose else would I be?"

Sherlock didn't, couldn't answer. He hugged John tightly, swearing to himself that he'd never let his doctor-blogger go.


End file.
